A Penny For Your Toughts
by Une-fleur-m'a-dit
Summary: He stood up with lazy and yet graceful movements, a daring smirk forming on his lips. “Alright. Tell the other customer that I can't take him tonight.” AU TezuRyo
1. Prologue

Here is the prologue of my first TeniPuri fic. Beware of yaoi, strong language and sexual references.

Other than that, enjoy!!

And, of course, a thousand thanks to Jewel for betaing!!

Disclaimer: I do not own Tezuka, Echizen or PoT...sigh

* * *

The air was hot and damp, gliding over his skin like a lover's steamy breath. Sweaty faces and flaccid silhouette were surrounding him, swallowing him in their heavy mass. Tokyo at night wasn't the same as it was in the daylight, but even when the sun was down, a flow of people were taking hold of the city. The high-class business men had withdrawn with the sun, leaving the streets to partying teenagers, alcoholics and whores.

Tezuka felt a drop of sweat trail down his back. He had taken a shower before leaving the apartment, but he felt as sticky as he would have at the end of a tennis match. Rays of light from a neon sign created misshapen patterns on his face, reflecting on his glasses. He took an hesitant glance at a dark window on his right and looked up to make sure of the name of the place; "The Loan" - and, pushing open the door, resisted the urge to turn back right away.

Filthy, that was the word that crossed his mind immediately. The walls, greasy, were an odd green-gray shade, though it was difficult to tell with the poor lighting. A few ratty tables were dumped on the middle of the floor. The air smelled of sweat mingled with alcohol, and Tezuka had to remind himself to breathe. Along the walls, on wiped out couches, teenagers and older men were lazing. Some of them were kissing. Boys, teenagers... If Tezuka hadn't been Tezuka, he would have cursed in amazement. If Tezuka hadn't been Tezuka, he would have ran out. But Tezuka, being _Tezuka_, walked calmly to the bar, face expressionless.

Atobe.

The silver haired boy turned slowly to face him, interrupting his own flirting with the barman. "Oh, Tezuka. Never thought you would come."

Sights and whispers lingered in the air, and Tezuka didn't dare look at anyone else other than his friend. "I wouldn't have if I had known," came the cold reply.

A graceful and slightly drunk smile formed on Atobe's lips. "And that is why I didn't tell you."

The barman slid one drink to Atobe, and another in front of the empty barstool next to him, eyes sharp behind his glasses.

"Thank you, Oshitari-kun," Atobe purred.

Oshitari bowed and left to serve other clients.

Tezuka got straight to the point. "Why did you want to see me, Atobe?"

The man took one long sip from his glass and turned to Tezuka again, eyes glistening in the feeble light. "Have a seat, Tezuka."

Tezuka obliged, but didn't make any attempt to touch his drink. The unclean glass remained untouched, and even the disturbing noises in the background didn't convince him to escape into the bliss of alcohol.

Tezuka felt Atobe's satisfied gaze on him. Tezuka refused to give in that easily.

"Again, Atobe, what I am here for?"

"Loosen up a bit, Tezuka." Atobe's secretive and yet provocative smile was back into place. "I made you come here to _show you something. _You see, there is more to life than university and tennis."

If Tezuka was taken aback, he didn't show it. So when Atobe left the barstool and made his way to the back of the room, Tezuka followed.

* * *

The boy was spread nonchalantly onto an isolated couch. What surrounded him didn't seem to interest him, because his eyes were closed and infinite boredom was written all over his face. Dark locks were falling over his eyelids, but they didn't seem to bother him. Hands firmly shoved in the pockets of his black jeans and chin resting on his chest, the teen still exhaled an odd kind of uneasiness. Maybe it was in the sternness of his lips, maybe in the subtle frown of his brows.

"Oi, Echizen."

The teenager cracked an eye open, enough to let a golden glint slip through it. When he recognized Atobe, his eyelids lift slowly and resignation blurred his steady look for an instant. His tired glare went to Tezuka.

"Alright. Tell the other customer that I can't take him tonight." He stood up with lazy and yet graceful movements, a daring smirk forming on his lips.

_Back to business mode_.

Tezuka was sure he was misinterpreting this whole _comedy_. With nothing more than a twitch of his brows, he turned to Atobe. He couldn't have!

But Atobe was smiling _the_ smile, the smile that Tezuka knew too well; the one that said, _Yes, this is a setup, now be amazed by my admirable genius! _And the insufferable bastard seemed pretty damn _proud_ about it_._

"Have fun. My treat."

No way.

"No." And with that characteristically simple response, Tezuka was making his way out, back onto the melting streets, his damp shirt sticking to his back, ignoring the disgruntled, hissed 'Che' Echizen made as he left, the sound burning into his memory and lingering in his mind.

And it was just another night in Tokyo...another lonely night.

* * *

**End Prologue**

* * *


	2. Angel with sheet metal wings

Second chapter! Special thanks to dogylove for the review and to jewel for betaing.

And if you read, please review!

Disclaimer: Again, PoT is nooooot mine!

* * *

He threw his coffee in the nearest trash can, hurrying past the remaining students who were limply exiting the stuffy auditorium. Tezuka was supposed to meet with Fuji ages ago, but his lecture had ran late, as usual. He was tired and hot, and was doing his best not to fall in his former captain-state and bark at anyone who would stand in his way to run laps . By the time he pushed open the door of the building, his forehead was shining with light sweat and his glasses were sliding down his nose.

He looked up at the leaden, lowering sky, readjusting his tennis bag on his shoulder. Rain tarried to fall and the damp heat was getting on everybody's nerves. Sleeping would be impossible if the room wasn't blessed with air-conditioning and days weren't better; the campus was now like a huge sauna in which both students and teachers felt like they were losing their sanity. Tezuka was glad to breath some fresh air again, but felt no relief in the presence of the sadist Fuji.

His friend was waiting at the fence, his everlasting smile blossoming on his lips as if it were just another sunny and lively day.

"Fuji," he called, though it sounded more like a command. He had known him since his junior years, but being with Fuji always made him slightly uncomfortable. When the man opened his eyes, Tezuka felt like they could decipher him as a sailor would read maps. And Tezuka wasn't always sure of what Fuji saw, given that sincerely, he didn't always understand himself either.

"Tezuka," Fuji greeted him, light brown hair sultrily tossed by the wind. He made no comment on Tezuka's delay, and Tezuka gave no explanation. Words had never really been a necessity.

He was there.

They headed toward the tennis courts as the threatening rumble of thunder was heard faintly in the distance. They warmed up smoothly, easily falling into their old routine.

"Where were you last night? I tried your apartment a couple of times but you never picked up."

Tezuka stretched his arms and bent forward, relaxing the muscles of his back. "Hn."

Fuji chuckled. "That's so very like you, Tezuka."

Time was spent in bolting balls, heavy breaths and gleaming skin. When the sky fell on them, Tezuka's face wasn't reflecting Fuji's own smile, but nonetheless, he felt like he was flying.

* * *

The soft fabric grazed against his cheek as Tezuka put the t-shirt on. Droplets of cool water made their way under the collar, and he reached for his towel once again. Still drying his hair, he turned off the light of the bathroom and made his way to the kitchen. His wet footsteps were hushed up by the carpeted floor while claps of thunder and the irritating ringing of the phone resounded against the walls. It was the fifth time that Atobe had tried to contact him in less than an hour. He was tempted to unplug the phone, even if that meant being impolite. But then again, he wasn't so sure that Atobe deserved this politeness. The events of the last night only reinforced his conviction that the man wasn't exactly a good influence, and bad influences didn't need frequenting.

The fridge was derisively empty, except for a few bottles of ice tea and a couple of eggs. Tezuka let out a huffed sigh. He had planned to eat rapidly, and then work on an essay for the rest of the evening. Putting on his shoes again, he grabbed his wallet and an umbrella, and soon enough, he found himself back under the pouring rain, thunder drumming in his ears.

* * *

It wasn't that it was clearly visible, because it was having a hard time trying to limit its silhouette in the dark alley. It wasn't that it was noisy, because the only sound that could be heard was the distant barking of a dog and the gentle draining of the rain. It was mostly because it didn't want to be seen, didn't want the world to look at him. Still, in the faint glow of a foggy moonlight, the sight of pale and soft flesh was offered to Tezuka.

The boy was slumped against an ill-smelling trash can, eyes shut close, arms protecting his head. His shirt, wrecked and covered with dirt, was hanging poorly around his torso. He could have been dead, but his chest was rising. He could have been crying, but no sound escaped his lips.

Tezuka wasn't sure if his footsteps had echoed through the teenager's mind. He didn't move, didn't even flinch when the umbrella tilted against the road.

His hand found the boy's knee and his low voice seemed alien even to himself. "Are you alright?"

A guttural growl quivered in the boy's chest, scratched hands clenched at the trash can. Goosebumps were running along his slender arms, and Tezuka felt his heart skip a beat when he saw blood dripping from his jaw. "Listen, I'm going to help you."

This time, the teen didn't make a sound, only shivered lightly, cheap shoes scraping against the asphalt as Tezuka tried to pull him up, undone belt rubbing uncomfortably against Tezuka's thigh. Despite being noticeably shorter than him, the boy sure was heavy. Tezuka grunted slightly as his arms protested against the effort. Even if he played tennis regularly and was in an enviable shape, swinging a racket and hitting a ball was far easier than lifting a beaten up teenager who seemed to have no problem with the notion of gravity. As he put his left hand on the bare hip of the boy, a sharp hiss escaped the sealed lips, ragged breath hot against Tezuka's neck. He retrieved his hand immediately, placing it safely on the shoulder.

"Sorry," he muttered in the damp hair, mind racing.

The boy was in bad shape. Tezuka could tell by the occasional winces and flinches that would shake the bruised body every now and then. Hospitalization, and even police were necessary. But then his eyes fell on the boy's features, and his breath suddenly caught in his throat.

_That_ boy.

_Echizen_


End file.
